


Untitled

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Dead Like Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-22
Updated: 2007-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George is sent to another town, and she reflects on what she's lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> NO betas, so all cock-ups are my own. I hate procrastination!
> 
> Written for green_peen

 

 

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dead Like Me or any of the characters. So there.

Once upon a time, there was a girl. Then she died. The End.

But not The End. Apparently, it was just the beginning, because Death decided to throw a curve. "Oh no, little girl. You're going to be a Grim Reaper." 

Fucking perfect. Just what I need. You know, I tried my damnedest to not make something of my life, but now I have to make something of my afterlife. I have to have a purpose, which is what I strove against. It was fucking bullshit, if you ask me. 

The more I took souls, the more I tried, the more I missed the life I left behind. The things I found so trivial had become that much more important. I would never really see my sister grow up. I would never really understand where my parents went wrong. I would never really understand why my mother was the way she was, or if she mourned for me, or any of it.

Until now. Stuck in an airport in Chicago, waiting for my baggage (what little I had) at the turnstiles. Baggage. That's a laugh. All us reapers had was baggage. Take Daisy for instance.

Ah, Daisy Adair. The prime beauty of the silver screen for years, or so she's told me, on many occasions. Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. Tragic, all that she'd seen, all that she'd done, all those stars she had done (not that I really wanted to know, fucking tell-all), all of it gone in a fire on the set of Gone With The Wind. She could have had it all, but I don't think she really had love. Except for Mason, but that was like a stray puppy searching for the perfect bone. Good girl, Daisy, for not handing that shit over to him.

Mason. As impure as the driven yellow snow as Mason is, there's this strange innocence about him. I admired it, to be honest. Of course I wouldn't leave him sleeping in Der Waffle Haus. He's family. They all were.

Even Delores and Her Big Beating Heart. She was family.

Family.

And now here I sit, waiting in an airport, thousands of miles away from the place I considered home. It tore Delores up when I told her I was leaving. I made up some bullshit story about an ailing relative and that they needed me to care for them. There was always a `them' involved. She `understood completely'. I asked her not to throw a party, and even though she gave me a lot of grief about it, she complied. There was still cake. That was nice at least.

A cop walks by me and I think about Roxy. Roxy could kick this chick's ass. Roxy could kick anyone's ass, come to think of it. That's what I loved about her. I wish I could be like Roxy. Don't take shit from anyone. Then again, I have a conscience.

I think about it all. What I had. It was good, wasn't it? It was fucking great, if you asked me. Ok, so you didn't, and it really wasn't. I grew to accept the shitpile that Death handed me. I didn't deserve it. Hell, I didn't deserve to be struck by a toilet seat from space, either. How fucking random is that? Why couldn't I be run over by a car? It's still an accident! I mean, no way was I going to commit suicide. That just brings about a whole other set of problems. Technically, Mason did that, but by the Reaper count, it was still an accident. The fucking things he goes through for a fix. 

A small smile creeps across my face as I think about what they're doing right now. Shit. They're probably sitting in their booth, all four of them, talking shit about me. I take that back. Three of them are sitting there talking shit about me. One is silent. I can see him, a plate of eggs, hash browns and a load of crispy bacon on the table, going untouched. He's listening, taking it all in. He takes out his leather datebook and flips the pages coolly and begins to pass out the assignments, and there's an empty space there. That would be me, the emptiness in his calendar. He flips backwards, still listening to the chatter amongst his merry band of Reapers. 

November Twenty-ninth.

The day he told me I was being transferred.

`It's not a bad thing, Peanut. The higher ups think you're doing well, and that you should try a different town.'

`This is BULLSHIT! I don't want another town!'

`It's not really up to you to decide. This comes from above.'

`Fuck above!'

It wasn't the best of reactions, I'll admit, but I didn't want to leave. This is what I knew. This is HOME.

I think I was closer to Rube than any of them. He was the type of father I craved, seeing that my own had done such a bang up job to begin with. I'm not stupid. I know that my dad wasn't the greatest of men. He fucked up everything he touched. It was kind of obvious that he and mom wouldn't last forever nor until death do us part. I mean, I could hardly stand living with the woman. Dad must have had the patience of... what was that guy in the Bible's name again? We weren't religious, we NEVER went to church, but I had heard that saying before. I'm losing track.

I glance up and a woman is approaching me. She has this look in her eye. I know that look. Fuck, I know that look. She's part of my new team. With a heavy sigh, I gather my things and start to follow. 

We approach a bank of payphones and I excuse myself. I can't just not let them know. I can't stand to think that Rube may be worrying. And I damn well know that he is. I pick up the phone and dial. It's probably still early evening. He's only, like, three hours behind.

`Hello?'

`Rube?'

~FIN!~ 

 


End file.
